


7 AM (Off-Season Shenanigans)

by tianhuo



Category: LCS, League of Legends RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 09:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10303613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tianhuo/pseuds/tianhuo
Summary: Exactly as it says on the tin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Silly little thing I wrote for a buddy (my girl c9sneaksen on tumblr) in a friendly little drabble trade.

It’s a normal day in the off-season, just like any other day in the off-season, and you’re lying around in bed, on your phone.

Not your bed, though.

 _So we fell asleep talking again,_ you think to yourself, something funny swelling up in your chest when you turn on your side and glance at him, his delicate, gentle, slumbering form-- oblivious to your awakened presence. Talking with Jensen about nothing and everything had become a regular occurrence and, by extension, so had this sight.

You hear him turn over and groan softly to himself-- probably because he just turned towards his window, and both of you forgot to close the shutters again-- and now the light’s hitting him in the face and, well, now he’s awake.

You clear your throat-- carefully. “Good morning,” you say, with an equal amount of caution.

“No.”

“You’re awake, dummy,” he flips over onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow, and you rest your hand on the small of his back, “just accept it.”

“Noooo…”

You try adopting a gentler approach. “Come on, you little shit,” you encourage him by pressing your thumb into his back, then running it across his neck-- you can feel his neck shiver in response.

“We’re not even playing or anything,” he grumbles, eventually turning to look at you (though half of his face is obscured in the fluffy, off-white of his pillow).

You sit up, leaning your head against the back of the bed frame. “Okay,” you check the time on your phone-- 7:28 AM, there’s no way anyone is up yet (the two of you had managed to fix that internal clock of yours-- but for whoever long was anyone’s guess)-- “convince me.”

“To stay here and cuddle with me?” Jensen’s face looks hopeful, his eyes lighting up with a light that could rival the streams fluttering in through the cracks of the window shutters at the same very moment.

You fight your blush. _It’s been two weeks,_ you remind yourself, _two weeks since we started dating. Why am I still blushing like this?_ “Well, you were only going to bargain for the first part,” you begin, “but I’m not stopping you-- from that second part.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re blushing.” Then, he leans in, giving you a quick peck on the lips. (Maybe it’s your imagination, but he lingered-- just for the slightest second-- hovering above your lips, eyelashes brushing against yours-- before he pulled away.) “You’re so easy.”

Your eyes meet his. “Alright, so it looks like I’m staying.” Jensen’s face brightens like a dim lightbulb brought back to life. “How about that second part?”

“Ugh. I need to earn that too?”

“Your words, not mine, bro.”

His eyes wander-- to your neck, to your lips. This drives you crazy, in actuality, but you are, typically, very good at keeping a composed state of being, and pretend not to notice this.

“I can’t just ask you nicely?”

You smile. “Uh-uh.”

He shrugs. “Okay. Fine.” Then he presses his lips to yours.

You feel as though it was a bit unfair. You could have gotten a warning, at least-- some initiation signal, some indication. Instead, you’re getting the breath knocked the fuck out of you on another person’s bed around 7:30 in the morning; fireworks bursting, cheeks flushing, colorful dances against your eyelids. You can almost _taste_ his smugness-- can hear him saying _I win._ And, even deeper beyond that, even further into the kiss, you uncover something of resemblance to confidence-- his knowing that you never had any intention to leave in the first place.

 _Fuck’s sake,_ you think to yourself when he pulls away, _I’m convinced, you shit._

This does not quite make it out of your mouth-- what escapes from your mouth instead is an involuntary, yearning sigh.

Already he begins to wrap his arms around you-- before you stop him.

“Oh my god,” he goes, “what now? Why can’t you just let me cuddle you in peace?”

You take his hand and guide it to the side of your face, brushing your thumb tenderly across his knuckles. “I’m in love with you,” you run your other hand through his hair, fussing around with it gently (he always pretends to hate it, but he secretly loves it when you fuck with his hair), “just making sure you knew.” Then you grin.

You watch his face erupt into crimson.

“Fu--Fuck you, Sneaky!” He sputters, “You always have to get the last fucking blush or some shit.”

“Hell yeah,” you affirm, opening up your arms, “so are we gonna cuddle, or what?” And, grumbling beneath his breath, he squeezes himself into the little space between your arms, and allows himself to get intertwined with you.

Suddenly, mid-tangle, he speaks. “And I’m in love with you too, you know.” He pauses. “Just making sure you knew.”

You giggle, and kiss the top of his head, then resting your chin on it. “I know.”


End file.
